RIP 'Lisabet

People who know me, know that I'm a pro wrestling freak.  I can't help it, its just something I love.

But that doesn't mean that I can't look at the sport objectively.  I look at the death of Owen Hart as the lowest point in the history of the sport.  And now, within 6 months, two people from the sport, both under the age of 45, have died.

Curt Hennig died a few months back, and toxicology reports indicated that he died because of years of cocaine abuse.  And now Miss Elizabeth (Elizabeth Huelette) is gone as well.

These deaths are too much.  Huelette wasn't even a wrestler, she was simply a valet, a manager.  She didn't take bumps, she didn't wrestle, and she didn't abuse her body night after night the way the wrestlers do.  She stood at ringside and shouted encouragement.  But preliminary reports indicate that foul play wasn't a factor (Larry Pfohl, aka Lex Luger, whose house Elizabeth was found in, HAS been arrested for "violatoin [sic] of the controlled substances act"). 

But now the question must be raised.  Is there something within the wrestling industry that creates this atmosphere?  More than simply the need for painkillers and steroids created by the need to keep one's body going.  But what is it about the business that is causing this?  Why did Curt Hennig die?  Why Elizabeth?  If you're interested, check out this link, for some information on wrestlers who have passed away.

Some have died of natural causes, and some of unforseeable accidents.  But too many have died of 'heart attacks' and 'reactions to pain medication' for this trend to go unnoticed.  Others have noticed it before, but as the late Owen Hart once said, "Enough is enough, and its time for a change".  People in the business have to look at what they're doing.  This has gone too far. 

Something has to be done.  Obviously, the wrestlers and those in the biz need to do some serious soul-searching.  But what can the fans do?  I'm tempted to stop watching.  But not only do I think that wouldn't matter, since I'm not a Nielsen Ratings Household, but I think it could do more harm.

If fans stop watching, then Vince McMahon may decide that something drastic has to be done to bring those fans back.  This could mean an increase in the high-risk gimmick matches that leave wrestlers in pain night after night.  If fans decide to start boycotting (and realistically, they already have, as ratings and PPV buyrates are much lower than they were five years ago), then the environment could get even worse for the wrestlers. 

I really don't think that the fans can do anything.  The way that Vince is handling the business today proves that he doesn't care about the fans, the wrestlers, or anything else. 

Bret Hart once said "Vince McMahon has always had this mentality about treating wrestlers like circus animals. All these wrestlers who have broke their backs making this living for years end up with nothing when it's over. And then they (the promoters) sort of take you out back and they put a slug in the back of your head and dump you. That's the life of a professional wrestler".  I used to think Bret was just bitter.  But now, I think he may be right.  And even though I know that nobody in the biz is gonna read this, I hope that my words are being echoed on other websites, by other wrestling fans, and perhaps, if there is some decency in the world, someone with Vince McMahon's ear is saying something similar.  Because this can't go on.

Every year, we lose more wrestlers than we do musicians, mainstream athletes or actors.  But nobody notices.  Nobody says anything.  I think its time we started.

This is one of muMs' poems as Poet from the first episode of OZ on HBO.

Cigarettes (from Episode 1)

I coulda sworn I seen the mothafucka in my cell
Goin' through my personal effects
He fingers, fingerin' my cigarettes
Came out like nothin' was was happenin', whistlin' he tune
So I mooshed his ass like,"Move, mothafucka, make room. Hey, ain't that my cigarette hangin' off the tip of yo lip?!"
I ain't even give him a chance for he confession, just leveled his ass with all that aggression
Lefts, rights to the dolex
Ha ha ha
Foots to the chest, uppercuts to the grill
I'm like "KILL", he's like "CHILL"!!
Take that for me even bein' in this place
Take that for that fuckin' C.O. baton across my face
Feel that for that lawyer who ain't give two fucks about me
Feel this for me bein' enslaved by poverty
Mothafucka
Gimme them damn cigarettes
Oh, these is Marlboros, I don't smoke these.

I just wrote this as a larf, something to kill time.  Someone told me it was good, so I figured what the heck.  It should be sung to the tune of The Lion King's Hakuna Matata.  Oh yeah, I was studying this for a class, not some perverse pleasure.

Vagina Dentata!

Its not just some weird slang

Vagina Dentata

If you can’t quite get the hang

It means castration

And the end of your wang

It’s our phallus-free philosophy

Vagina Dentata!

Why, when he was reading Sigmund Freud…

When I was reading Sigmund Freud!

Very nice.

Thanks!

He found his genitalia lacked a certain style

He found his gender could be more versatile

I’m a tortured soul, though I seem so  normative

And it hurt that my friends weren’t more affirmative

And oh, the loss

(Oh what he lost!)

When it bit offa my dick

(Who really needs a dick?)

Friends all brag on their cocks

(How did you feel?)

All I have is this lousy…

STEVE!  Try to be more PC.

Oh…sorry.

Vagina Dentata!

Its not just some stupid slang

Vagina Dentata!

If you can’t quite get the hang

It means castration

And the end of your wang

Yeah, sing it, kid!

It’s our phallus-free

Philosophy…

Vagina Dentata!

Vagina Dentata

[Repeats]

It means castration

And the end of your wang

It’s our phallus-free philosophy

Vagina Dentata

[Repeats]

I've been thinking alot lately.  Der.  But the things I've been thinking haven't been the kind of things that I'm supposed to write about, let alone talk about.  The kind of things that inspire indignant replies from some of the more reactionary people in the world (of course, there have been others who haven't done so, and I thank you).

But I've also been exploring.  Exploring myself, my thoughts, my beliefs, my feelings, my essence.  Which is weird, because I never really thought that I had an essence, I was just this creature, taking up space in the world, running a race that can never be won.

But I found something that makes me feel better.  Poetry.  More specifically, Slam.  Spoken word poetry, freed from the constraints of meter and rhyme, and free to express itself however it sees fit.  I've been downloading and searching, finding transcripts here, and mp3s there.  I've found CDs on Ebay, and books on Amazon.  And I've found a world in which I want to immerse myself. 

But then I thought about the things I've been thinking and feeling, and my inability to express it in words.  Because I can express my thoughts in poetry (albeit not well) and no one will say shit.  Except for uptight poetry snobs.  But they can fuck off and die.

If I write a poem about the futility of life, its art.  If I write prose about the futility of life, I should be locked away.  What is this fine line between poetry and prose that we have drawn?  What is this distinction between art and journalism that seems to exist?  Why is one valued over the other?  Why is it okay to write a poem about love, but to put the same things in a letter is creepy?

I'm gonna spend the summer exploring poetry.  If I write something I like, I may post it here.  If I'm not sure how it will be taken, I won't let you comment.  Or hell, to make sure that democracy exists, I won't do that.  But if you don't like it, tell me why, don't just tell me.

Be Yourself, By Yourself, Stay Away From Me

When people ask 'hows it going' or 'how're you doing', do they really want me to tell them?

Do they want to hear that life is a festering cesspool of misery and decay?

Do they want me to tell them that everything I do is completely pointless?  That nothing I do seems to be of any value?  That no matter what I do in this world, I will never be a person of worth?

Do they want to see me break down in tears, because the pain of being alive has become too unbearable?  That every minute I'm awake is another moment in time that is meaningless.  That just being out in public and spending time with people is horrifying?

Do they want me to describe how the only time I can find any peace is when I'm lying in bed alone, holding a pillow to my chest?  That all I want to do is spend the rest of my life lying in bed, thinking about nothing, doing nothing, being the nothing I was meant to be.

Do they want to hear that I'm in pain every moment of my life?  That I will never be able to have what I want, what I need.  That the only thing that has any meaning to me is completely unattainable?

Or do they just want to hear me make some wisecrack about the end of the semester?